


His Girl Friday

by zarahjoyce



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Angel: the Series, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jonsa Week 2019, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21523006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: He comes nearer. His right hand makes a move as if to touch her cheek - then shrinks back to his side, as if he'd changed his mind. "I hate seeing you hurt," Jon tells her, and despite hearing it for so many times already, it never fails to give her comfort.Except-- "We both know that the only way forthishurt--" She points at her head, "--to go away is for you to defeat that demon."As it's possible, he looks even more soulful now.An odd look for a creature that's supposed to besoulless.(Day 6 of Jonsa Week: Remix of GoT and Angel: The Series)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	His Girl Friday

Sansa places a glass full of ice next to her throbbing temple, willing for the pain to go away - only it never does. At least, not _this_ way. No amount of painkiller or mint balm can soothe this type of headache, and she should know; she's been trying to endure it for almost three years now.  
  
Keyword being 'trying'.  
  
She sighs, and transfers the glass to the other side of her head. Closing her eyes, she wishes the ache to at least dull to something close to tolerable so she can at least breathe _easier_ and--  
  
"Do you want me to... y'know, bring you anything?"  
  
Sansa opens one eye, sees Jon looking at her with that soulful expression of his. Noticing that he has her attention he adds quickly, "How about that lemon cake you like so much?"  
  
"Shop's closed," she responds, shutting both eyes. "It's 11 PM, Jon."  
  
"Maybe the owner's still inside?"  
  
"Doubt it."  
  
"Maybe other stores sell it?"  
  
 _"Jon,"_ she says, lowering the glass to her table. If she can glare at him she would have, except it takes too much effort on her part.  
  
She tries her best anyway.  
  
Jon sighs - an odd habit for someone who has no _breath_. Glancing at the clock behind him he says, "We still have two hours before the Duva'ak demon in your vision attacks, Sans. Theon's still out there gathering the herbs we needed to banish it back to its dimension. Meantime maybe just... let me help you feel better?"  
  
"Why?" she shoots back. "So _you_ can feel better too?"  
  
He comes nearer. His right hand makes a move as if to touch her cheek - then shrinks back to his side, as if he'd changed his mind. "I hate seeing you hurt," Jon tells her, and despite hearing it for so many times already, it never fails to give her comfort.  
  
Except-- "We both know that the only way for _this_ hurt _\--_ " She points at her head, "--to go away is for you to defeat that demon."  
  
As it's possible, he looks even more soulful now.  
  
An odd look for a creature that's supposed to be _soulless._   
  
Feeling as though she ought to explain for the nth time, Sansa says, "Look. I'm not saying _no_ to your offer to make me feel better. I'm just saying that the only way you actually _can_ is when you make sure the demon in my vision doesn't hurt those three girls at the pier."  
  
She grimaces. The vision had been _extremely_ graphic; if left alone the Duva'ak demon will start eating the girls, giving it the energy it needed to become larger and consume even more people--  
  
Sansa can almost _hear_ the crunch of its victims' bones. Taste their blood in her mouth.  
  
 _Oh god._  
  
She _never_ asked for any of this. Coming to Los Angeles, she'd always envisioned herself becoming a famous singer, with Grammy awards tucked under her belt and adored by many fans worldwide.  
  
Except now she works as a secretary to an actual _vampire with a soul_ , and plagued by visions as painful as pouring lava straight down her brain stem.  
  
Funny how things worked out for her.  
  
Except they absolutely did _not._  
  
"Sans?"  
  
This time Jon catches one of her hands and squeezes it. It should bother her, how cold his hands are - except it never does.  
  
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," she tells him readily, even if every syllable is a downright lie that's making her throat hurt. "I'm _fine._ "  
  
He steps closer, touches her cheek with his fingers, and plants a tender kiss on her forehead.  
  
"Sorry," Jon whispers to her skin. "I'm sorry."  
  
"You idiot," she admonishes, pulling back just so she can give him a look. "What are you sorry for?"  
  
His eyes are almost black as he regards her. "For--"  
  
"I got it! I _fucking_ got it!"  
  
Sansa almost jumps from her seat, and Jon steps away from her so fast he almost seemed like a blur.  
  
Just then, Theon rushes into their small office space, proudly displaying the potted plant he's holding. "Turns out that moss herbs are sold down at Chinatown for like two dollars a pot? Who would've thought, right? _Me_ , that's who. _I_ would've thought that." He looks positively gleeful, the _nerd._  
  
Jon eyes the plant. "So that's the thing we need to--"  
  
"--banish the Duva'ak demon? Yes, yes." Theon plucks the leaves and shoves them in a resealable bag, joining some other ingredients placed in there beforehand. "We just need to coat the Occurian Dagger with this concoction, and then you _have_ to stab the Duva'ak through its left eye, down its--"

"As much as I'd _love_ to hear about you two butchering that demon," Sansa deadpans, reaching for her glass of ice again, "maybe it'd be better if you actually _go_ to the pier now? Who knows, maybe Theon can manage to creep the girls out so the demon won't even get to see them - let alone make them its dinner."  
  
"Oh ha ha _ha,"_ Theon says snippily. "That's funny, Stark."  
  
But Jon's already reaching for his leather jacket and putting it on. "Let's go, then." He moves towards the door, stops, and turns to Sansa. "How about I bring you some sandwich? Maybe turkey or ham or--"  
  
 _"Jon."_  
  
"Chicken it is," he says, giving her a sad little smile before exiting the office door - with Theon right at his heels.  
  
Leaving Sansa alone in the office - with shooting pain as her only company.  
  
Oh, _joy._  
  


* * *

  
  
Some minutes later, Sansa opens her eyes again, slowly becoming aware of three things:  
  
 _One,_ apparently she's fallen asleep.  
  
And drooling. Oops.  
  
 _Two,_ her headache's gone.   
  
Which means that Jon's won, thank the gods. And that he's coming back home soon - thank the gods.  
  
Sansa releases a deep breath.   
  
_Three--_  
  
\--their office phone's ringing. 

Sansa goes to her feet and reaches to answer it, except their machine picks it up before she can.

Her own voice plays back in the silent office: _Snow Investigations: we help the hopeless. If you're one of them, please leave a message after the beep._  
  
Beeeeeeep _._  
  
"Jon?"  
  
Sansa straightens.

 _That's_ someone she hadn't heard from in a long while, that's for sure. Gods, she could've sworn that voice was--  
  
"Jon, it's me. I'm in Los Angeles. I-- I need to see you." Pause. "Please."  
  
 _Dany._  
  
As in the love of Jon's unlife, Dany.  
  
 _Here_ in Los Angeles.  
  
Oh, _joy._


End file.
